


Malasada

by Ava_Lydia_Stoker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Torture, Chocolate, Crossdressing Kink, Drag Queens, Drug Use, Fetish Clothing, Heavy Drinking, Karaoke, Margaritas, Multi, Tropical Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava_Lydia_Stoker/pseuds/Ava_Lydia_Stoker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham's thoughts were broken as Crawford brought the fleet SUV to a stop and thrust the shifter from Drive to Park. "Are you with me?" he asked, stern and fatherly. "Because right now I need you to walk out there, do what it is you do, and help us catch this one as fast as we can." Graham silently scoffed at the idea, but he knew that Crawford was right. He helped catch the last half dozen. But it was the one who got away that he wanted more than any of the others. The Chesapeake Ripper. Crawford's White Whale. "Will, I need your head in the Game." His tone was unmistakable. He needed results. Fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Enough to Rot Your Teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purewhitepage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewhitepage/gifts).



Chapter One:  
Sweet Enough to Rot Your Teeth

Six weeks; forty two days. One thousand eight hours since his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. One thousand eight hours since the last session of the almost laughable psychiatric care he received at the hands of Dr. Frederick Chilton. Part of Will Graham was relieved to be back out in the unstable world. A world with dangerous things to come. Where life was beyond his control. But he was taking that control back now. Slowly. One day at a time. Still, despite all of the progress he had made in these last six weeks there was still a small bit of Graham's own psyche that wouldn't mind so much being back in the cell. Alone and free from the shackles that Jack Crawford had almost excitedly burnt into his tender flesh like a prized bull. Alone with his own thoughts in his head instead of those of others.

Graham could still feel the tenderness of his emotional wounds as he quietly forced himself out of bed. Scars that had slowly began the process of healing during his tenure at the institution; things which would keep him up at night now seemed like an old photograph that had lost it's luster to time. It was the first time since he had been removed from the benign comfort of his classroom that he could honestly say that he felt safe. As safe as one could feel when under the employ of Jack Crawford and the psychiatric care of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, that is. A fact that still seemed to baffle Alana Bloom. But Will Graham knew what he was doing. He didn't need a mother to watch over him and tell him he was wrong, that he shouldn't be seeing Dr. Lecter because it was a bad influence on him. He was old enough to decide for himself. And he had.

Looking over at the alarm clock Alana had thoughtfully tried to offer as a olive branch upon his return he saw that it was a few minutes beyond two in the morning. His mind felt foggy and disjointed as he fought to bring himself back to reality. Another knock echoed through his small home and bounced through his delicate mind. "Just a moment!" he shouted as he searched the floor for where he might have left his clothes. "I'm not dressed yet." he muttered to himself as he located a flannel long sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Once again the visitor knocked and once more Graham responded that he required a moment. Not that the man who was outside his door about to break it down with the force of a seven nation army would care enough to listen to what he was saying. Jack did what Jack wanted when Jack so desired. To hell with the rules.

"Will," Crawford's voice cut through the door like a razor through the air, "I know you're in there. Open up so we can talk!" Graham marveled to himself how loudly the man's baritone carried through his humble home. He could hear the echo several yards away as if he was standing right next to him. "I really don't have time for this shit, Will." The elder man seemed to be becoming less patient with Graham's rituals before dealing with another human this early in the day. "You better be dressed." Crawford's voice echoed through the house, louder now that before, as he offered one last knock before he walked in.

Graham reached out to allow the man in about the same time his hand was about to connect with the door. There was a moment of shock as an unwelcome sense of sharp pain coursed through Graham's face as Crawford's fist made it's connection. "Holy fuck..." the injured man muttered as Crawford's eyes expanded. Blood slowly rushed out of Graham's nose as he staggered to the kitchenette to find something to collect it. Crawford cautiously entered the home and removed his fedora. "I was about to let you in, you know." Graham shouted out to him as he forced a small hand towel up his nose to control the bleeding. Blood continued to seep out all over his shirt and hands.

Crawford shifted his weight nervously and cleared his throat. "You should have answered the first time I knocked. Then you wouldn't be in this mess." His tone had taken a stern candor. Graham scoffed and continued to attend to his nose bleed. Crawford followed him to the kitchenette and took a seat at the table while he waited. "This can't wait." he said as he lowered the fedora on the table. "I can't wait; this case won't wait. So clean yourself up and meet me in the car." Graham fought back the nervous laughter that had bubbled to the surface in light of Crawford's actions and watched through moist eyes as his superior left the kitchenette. 

Winston climbed off the chair he had been sleeping on and rested his head on Graham's foot. "Yeah, I know." he muttered as the dog looked up at him with his undeniable eyes. Graham knew he couldn't handle much more of this type of work if he wanted to continue to heal. To become whole, but at the same time he knew that if he didn't the world around him would remain the dangerous minefield it had slowly become over the last decade. "I don't have much of a choice, Winston." Graham whispered as he reached down to rub Winston's stomach as he cleaned the last of the blood from his nose. 

Once outside in the cold air Graham could easily make out the silhouette of Crawford as he leaned against the fleet SUV that he had brought. "Took you long enough." Crawford muttered as Graham reached the vehicle. "Get in. I'll update you on the way." There was a certain chill to his voice that Graham couldn't place, something that felt wrong. He was unsure of what exactly this inflection might be the symptom of, but he knew that it took a lot to shake a man as solid as he was. 

No time was wasted as Crawford turned the vehicle over and switched on the headlights. Graham tried to settle in, but his superior wouldn't allow him the chance as he reached across and handed him a thin manilla folder. Graham knew what was inside before he had a chance to look as he ran his thumb across the edges. "What's in this, Jack?" he asked, keeping his voice low. Crawford waved his hand dismissively. He should have known better than to ask the Guru to reveal his secrets. "Ouch." Graham cried softly as his finger was cut into by the edge of the folder he had been running his hand across. Quickly he drew his thumb to his mouth. The taste of blood filled his mouth for a second time in an hour.

Inside was less than the usual case file; a single fax sheet of a police report from several hours earlier. "Aside from the local blue and black the scene will be fresh. I need your head all in on this one, Will." Crawford said finally as he made a left turn. Graham took note of the sign that welcomed the two men to Salem, Virginia. "It's unlike anything we have ever seen; unlike anything you've ever seen. I assure you that." he continued. Graham's thoughts were focused on the report which seemed to have been filled out in a rush. There was a startling lack of detail or any sense of coherence.

"Fresh as a daisy?" Graham asked laconically. Crawford narrowed his eyes at his colleague and frowned. "You woke me up at two in the morning and drag me out to nowhere to look at a body that's, to use your terminology, unlike anything we have ever come across. I think I'm allowed to be a bit sarcastic." He watched as the Guru returned his attention back to the road and muttered something under his breath. "What makes this one so special?" Graham asked trying to bring the conversation back around. He hated when he went in blind and he had a sense that this one would be no different. Crawford knew he worked better when he was groping in the dark. 

What remained of the drive to the crime scene was held in silent congress. Graham directed his attention to his state of mind. He knew what he would have to do, what was being asked of him, and he knew the toll it would take on him. He also knew that Crawford had a supernatural faith in him and his ability to fight his way back from the edge. He had done it once before. Why not a second time? Still, Graham knew that he would have to bring up the question of a vacation to Crawford. Chances were he would bite his head off, chew him up, and spit him out before he was denied, but he still had to take the chance. He was on the mend now and if that meant he had to slip away for a time then his superior would have to deal with it.

Graham's thoughts were broken as Crawford brought the fleet SUV to a stop and thrust the shifter from Drive to Park. "Are you with me?" he asked, stern and fatherly. "Because right now I need you to walk out there, do what it is you do, and help us catch this one as fast as we can." Graham silently scoffed at the idea, but he knew that Crawford was right. He helped catch the last half dozen. But it was the one who got away that he wanted more than any of the others. The Chesapeake Ripper. Crawford's White Whale. "Will, I need your head in the Game." His tone was unmistakable. He needed results. Fast.

"Yeah," Graham replied as he reached over to open the door, "but we need to talk after this one, Jack." Crawford leveled his gaze at the man across from him and allowed a small smile play at the edge of his mouth. Without another word Graham climbed out of the SUV and slowly walked through the dimly lit field towards a small bench that sat in front of a paved walkway. He could remember a small clip in the local news about the Greenway that ran from one end of the Roanoke-Salem area to the other. He had made a mental note to visit sometime, perhaps with Winston or one of the others, but he never thought he would be there for the first time on business. But here he was.

Before him was one of the most disturbing and beautiful things he had ever laid eyes upon. On the bench was a young woman. From the distance she looked to have been lucky in her unfortunate death compared to some of the sights Graham had been asked to view, but the closer he drew the clarity of her demise became strikingly clear to him. The first thing he noticed was the woman's hair. Blonde, or so he had assumed until he drew close enough to catch the faint smell of chocolate that lingered in the air. Curiously, he noted, the woman's hair remained despite the wind that had blown his own all over. Reaching into his pocket and snapping the latex gloves on he ran his hand over her hair and realized the shocking truth - her hair was made of solid white chocolate. Within moments his mind went to work.

"I begin this task by the removal of her hair," he intoned as he ran his hands over the woman's hair a second time, "careful to remove each strand with care." Graham's hand slid down the woman's face and across her eyes. "Once I have crafted her new hair I start the tedious task of taking out her eyes. One by one I detach each nerve, careful to drain the sockets as I wait for the next step to be finished." His hands caress the chocolate orbs that replace her eyes, taking note of the small blue mints used for irises. "This is my design." Graham continued to feel himself slip deeper into the mindset of the killer as he examined the woman's body closer. "This whore wouldn't need the weapon she had used to fuck over so many in her next life, so I remove them with vigor as I continue to ply my craft." 

Crawford watched from the distance as Graham unbuttoned her blouse to reveal that the woman's breasts had been replaced with chocolate facsimiles. He could feel his stomach turn as his delicate little teacup continued. "Tricks become treats, in my design." Crawford's mouth become dry as the profile went on, knowing that he would be off chocolate for a very long time. "Finally, I remove the hands. Ancient cultures would do so to signal a thief. This whore deserved no less than this for the thievery of my love." Graham shifted his weight and Crawford could clearly see the woman's hands had, as well, been recreated in chocolate. Small red mints adorn the hand in place of her fingernails.

"This is my design." Graham whispered as he slowly brought himself back from his trance. Part of him felt ashamed for what had been done to this woman. Part of him shared the killer's belief that she deserved what she had done to her. Crawford let out a loud sigh and looked over to Graham as he drew closer. "You're looking for someone with knowledge of food. Baker, perhaps. Chef. I would start looking there." His mind raced as he listed off the professions that might be able to create such a tableau. "One thing is certain, though, Jack. The killer, when you find her, will be sweet enough to rot your teeth."


	2. Schizophrenic Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal mulled Graham's response over as he debated if his tan was natural or from a tanning salon. "Perhaps what you need is a vacation." Hannibal let this hang in the air, heavily for a few moments before he spoke again. "Away from Jack, this life you despise so much, from murder and death. Even if for a little while." Taking a sip from his wine Hannibal watched and waited to see what kind of reaction he might suss out of Graham. He wasn't disappointed as he sat back and seemed to consider the suggestion with an intensity he often saved for empathic recreation of crime scenes and when Jack was about to lecture him on his faults.

Chapter Two:  
Schizophrenic Conversations

Hannibal Lecter sauntered casually from his liquor cabinet to his desk and rested the decorative wine chalice next to his leather bound appointment book. Slightly amused, he allowed his eyes to wander to the clock on the wall. Just a few minutes before seven. Will Graham would arrive soon to brighten his lavish office with his debonair self defeatism. Hannibal had always loved that about his friend and resident mongoose under the house. No matter how awful his day was, how much he might want to turn off the lights and let the dust collect on his Louis XIV furniture, he always knew that Will Graham would walk in and cast a light of misery across his own gloom. Graham was useful in this respect and it was one of the reasons Hannibal kept him around. He was also a wonderful sounding board.

As he collected his notes from their last session Hannibal could hear the obnoxious notification emitting from his Rolex that had become something of an early warning system. It was seven o'clock. In less than a minute he would rise from his leather seat, saunter over to the solid oak door, and see the half-smile, half-smirking face of his friend awaiting him. And, like clockwork, as he made his way to the door he could hear the soft breathing coming from the other side. Despite his best effort, his most disillusioned belief, Will Graham was still as predictable and punctual as any man Hannibal had ever had the pleasure of meeting in his long and storied life.

Without a moment of hesitation Graham burst in the room and rested his flannel coat in the seat. "I can't take it." he declared. Hannibal motioned for him to come in, as he would so often, despite the fact that Graham had already made himself at home. "Jack's on about this new case and I don't know. I don't know if I can handle it. One more. That's what he says. One more and you can do what you like, Will. Yeah, well, it should have been one more months ago. Before I was institutionalized." Hannibal watched as Graham oozed raw emotion out of every orifice of his body. Most of the time this would have annoyed him, but with Graham it was different. 

"Yes, I have been informed of the latest case." Hannibal offered as he took his seat across from Graham, drink in hand. "Tell me...how did you feel when you saw Ms. Reid's body? Aroused? Curious? Did it excite your sweet tooth?" Graham scoffed as Hannibal listed off his thoughts. He could tell he was about to strike a chord within his friend before the two of them had even managed to begin with formalities for the evening. He could tell tonight would be a good night.

For a long moment Graham remained stoic. The doctor could tell he was trying to decide if he was asking an actual question or if he was suggesting something; something so subtle that he might not quite understand the implication. The truth of the matter was, of course, that Hannibal was playing both ends of the spectrum. "I felt," Graham offered as he shifted his weight in the seat, "I felt aroused." Hannibal leaned back in his chair and allowed a smile to play at the edge of his lips. "It was a feeling not unlike satisfaction," Graham continued, "as if I had been let in on some divine insight. Insight into the heart of a woman scorned really. So, yes. I believe arousal would be an apt description."

A light above cast an abstract shadow across the agent's face as Hannibal took a sip from his chalice. Debating how to continue, he searched his memory palace for a small detail, something to inform the situation and cast a light on the killer's use of chocolate as a means of murder for Graham. "Chocolate has been known to be quite the potent aphrodisiac. Some cultures hold the belief that it should be reserved only for the Gods, it's richness and flavor too divine for mankind to know." Across from him Graham scoffed at the idea. "Men have believed less interesting things over far lower valued commodities." he countered as Graham twitched uneasily in his seat.

"Aphrodisiac." Graham let the syllables roll of his tongue. "I always thought it was something you offered women on Valentine's Day so she would sleep with you out of pity." Hannibal rested the chalice of Pinot Noir on the armrest and leaned closer to Graham. "I suppose that's one more lie my father managed to tell me growing up. Instill the fact that no woman could ever want a man who was as damaged as I was, even at the ripe age of sixteen." Graham looked away as he spoke about his father. Hannibal could tell he was hitting the high notes tonight. "I don't know, though. I never put much stock in such theories. Love, desire. It always seemed so alien to me."

Hannibal licked his lips and allowed himself to sink back in the seat. "Despite what you might believe, Will, there is some truth to social rituals you deny yourself. For example, it's a known fact that chocolate can increase sexual health in women as well as increase the likely hood of achieving orgasm in both men and women." Hannibal watched as Graham choked back a smile that was about to cross his lips. "You can't tell me you haven't wondered yourself, Will, was this killer not trying to elevate this Ms. Reid instead of remove what made her a woman? To make her even more beautiful and effeminate." Hannibal crossed his legs and rested his drink on his knee.

Graham shot out of his seat with a sudden movement that Hannibal hadn't anticipated. "Perhaps," he allowed as he rolled up his sleeves and leaned on the back of the chair, "but I can't quite nail this one down. There's something wrong, something missing." Graham said as he allowed his gaze to wander. Hannibal couldn't help but admire Graham's muscular arms and wonder how the man still managed to tan in November. "I don't know." Graham's tone was dismissive as he waved his hand through the air casually. "It's like I'm reaching out for something that's only there in my imagination, but I haven't quite been able to uncover this truth yet."

Hannibal mulled Graham's response over as he debated if his tan was natural or from a tanning salon. "Perhaps what you need is a vacation." Hannibal let this hang in the air, heavily for a few moments before he spoke again. "Away from Jack, this life you despise so much, from murder and death. Even if for a little while." Taking a sip from his wine Hannibal watched and waited to see what kind of reaction he might suss out of Graham. He wasn't disappointed as he sat back and seemed to consider the suggestion with an intensity he often saved for empathic recreation of crime scenes and when Jack was about to lecture him on his faults.

"Jack would never allow such a thing," Graham finally responded as he seemed to fall into the embrace of the leather seating, "I couldn't. I wouldn't even know where to vacation. I haven't taken one in years." Hannibal could seem the cogs working in his friend's mind as he spoke, trying to deny the validity of the idea presented to him. "But you know what? That...is a good idea. Just have to think of how to approach Jack with this." His tone was starting to betray him as he continued to mutter to himself. Hannibal had planted the seeds in his mind now all he would have to do is sit back, wait, and see what beautiful rose would bloom before him.

"Food for thought," Hannibal offered as he swallowed the last of the wine and rested the chalice on the small table next to his seat, "and I think you should follow through with that. Invite Alana along as well. It's been a long while since she was last out of her own head long enough to have fun." This thought brought a curious reaction from Graham. Hannibal couldn't help but stop his train of thought and observe as the man across from him reasoned with what he had offered. Graham was always a compelling patient and one that provided endless wonder with each session.

Graham chewed on the thought for a moment before he spoke. "She has a professional curiosity about me," he countered finally, "she would never allow herself to be on vacation with me. It would be bad for the two of us." Hannibal found it difficult to debate with him on this point as his friend leaned forward and collected his coat from the back of the seat. "I believe this about does it for us tonight." Hannibal checked his watch as Graham rose from his seat. "This has been," Graham paused for a brief moment, "insightful."

Hannibal found himself lost in his own thoughts as Graham collected his things. "Insight is what I do my best to offer," the doctor spoke slow and easily, "so long as it is of use. I would hate to think we are having schizophrenic conversations." He watched as Graham tried to reason out the meaning behind his words. A confused duckling amongst the swans; his face contorting in odd fashions.

"Schizophrenic conversations, doctor?" the man inquired. "I'm not sure I really follow what you're saying." Graham drew his coat around himself and forced his arm through each sleeve. Hannibal watched with a mock intensity as the man across from him dressed himself. There was a quiet sense of resolve about him that Hannibal tried to encapsulate for his memory palace. A sight like this was rare. "Are you saying we're having conversations with ourselves?"

The doctor stood from his seat and walked over to his desk. "To some extent," Hannibal said as he wrote something down in his logbook, "I do believe that our conversations could be considered schizophrenic. The two of us share much in common. Do we not? Would it not be logical, then, to say that we are of the same cloth?" Graham looked as if his head was about to explode from the thought required to make sense of what Hannibal was saying. Defeated Hannibal motioned for his friend to leave the office for the night so he could close out. "Be sure to take a breath mint on the way out." 

Graham spun on his heel as he reached the door and noticed the small ornate bowl of mints. "What, no morphine lollipops?" Graham quipped wryly. Hannibal offered him a stern look. "Sorry," Graham replied as he removed one of the small mints and unwrapped it, "I'm not used to such...treats after a session. Is this something new or are you trying to tell me I have bad breath on top of the awful aftershave."

"That dreadful stuff with the boat on the bottle?" Hannibal asked, feeling a bit amused by Graham's candor. "No, I have a new client who has...let's say less than desirable breath. No slight to you, Will." Graham put the mint in his mouth and turned one final time to the doctor. "Think about what I said. Vacation could be good for you."

"Perhaps, doctor." Graham said as he left the office, and Hannibal, alone for the evening.


End file.
